Simon Petrikov never really considered himself a sentimental person. He was loving to Betty, of course, but rather cold to everyone else. He just didn't feel very kind in general.
After what was being dubbed as World War 3, or the Mushroom War by others, he felt the chill of the unholy artifact take root deep in his core. It appeared as if every other being was wiped out by the bomb, and he was merely wandering, looking for food and resources to take advantage of. Honestly, if he really looked at the situation at hand, there was no point in living. Betty was gone after all, but the crown would force him to live, he knew it. Once he had touched it, there was no going back. It was taking possession of his brain, his body, slowly but surely.
But enough of that useless nonsense. His common sense told him that although he could hardly be called human anymore, his needs were still that of the flesh. His stomach was a ceaseless reminder of that. "Silence, monster. I am seeking food to appease you."
Ah, yes. His sense of humor, although met with groans from his friends, never failed to amuse him. He crawled through an annihilated ruin of a grocery store, scouring the fallen cans for something usable. A smiling chicken stared up at him from a container of chicken soup. He grimaced. Food for the gods, surely. There was no can opener on him, but he could use rocks or something of the sort to open it.
He found it quite funny that with a single event, humans could be reduced to their primitive selves that were usually hidden. An overturned shopping cart had somehow withstood said event. This would be useful. Gathering all possible food, Simon piled it into the cart. He pushed it through what remained of Planet Earth, grabbing what he could.
"Why, hello there! I'm just making my usual rounds. I can't seem to find the dairy aisle however, haha. Could you direct me?" The skeleton said nothing in return. He passed it, taking no care to how it seemed to judge him for being alive.
A small shape caught his eye. He drew closer, with caution. He touched its shoulder, and was met with the shock of his life. It was a little girl, with chopped black hair, lifelessly gray skin, in a maroon shirt with an overall dress, and beautiful eyes. "Where are your parents?" He almost instantly regretted the question when her face fell and her head turned away.
"My dad left us, and my Mommy was killed by some bad men." His heart reached out to her. He couldn't help but be curious how she survived, but it was not the time to ask.
"What's your name?"
"Marcy. I'm Marcy Abadeer."
"A girl like you shouldn't be alone in this kind of place. Do you want to come with me?" He was aware that the words sounded reminiscent of a creepy pedophile, but he couldn't think of how else to phrase it. Her sad smile told of gratitude unspoken.
"Sure. What's your name, old man?" He bristled slightly. He was a mere 47 years old, but of course, the crown made him appear much older.
"I'm Simon Petrikov." He offered his hand, and they walked off together into a green sunset that spoke of an uncertain future. However, the touch of a warm hand gave him hope.
